My life

The smell that stopped my heart

MICAS POV

She wakes up quietly and slips out of my arms, heading into the bathroom. I don't stop her. Part of me knows she needs space, even if every instinct in my body screams to keep her close. The door closes softly behind her. 
Minutes pass. Then more. 

Eventually, I hear the sound of water running—bathwater. I tell myself she just wants comfort. Warmth. A moment to herself. After everything she's been through, she deserves that much. 

I grab my phone and text my beta, needing something solid to focus on. I ask where he is. What he did with him. 

He's dealt with, my beta replies. You don't need to worry about him ever again. 

Relief floods through me, dark and sharp. Exactly what I wanted to hear. I lean back against the pillows and let out a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding. 

I hear her moving around in the bathroom, opening drawers, shifting things. I almost smile to myself. Humans are curious creatures. Always searching, always needing familiar things. When the noise stops, I assume she's found what she needs. 

Then I hear it. 

A soft sound. Almost nothing. 

Crying. 

My chest tightens. I consider getting up, knocking, checking on her,but I stop myself. I don't want to overwhelm her. She's been through enough hands grabbing, enough voices demanding. Maybe she just needs to let it out. 

I lay back down. 

That's when the scent hits me. 

Blood. 

My body goes cold. Every muscle locks. My heart slams violently against my ribs as panic tears through me. Not pain from the bond something worse. Something final. 

I'm at the bathroom door in seconds. 

"Genevieve?" My voice is steady, but it takes effort. "Are you okay?" 

No answer. 

I try the handle. Locked. 

The scent grows stronger, heavier, unmistakable. Fear grips me so hard it makes my vision blur. I don't hesitate again. I slam my shoulder into the door and it gives way with a crack. 

The sight inside shatters me. 

The water is red. She's pale. far too pale, and her arms are injured, her hand still trembling around something sharp. She's breathing, barely, her eyes glassy and unfocused. 

"No," I whisper, crossing the room in a blur. "No, no, no—" 

I take the blade from her immediately, my hands shaking as I toss it aside. She breaks then, sobbing, pleading through tears, saying she wants it to stop. That she wants to disappear. That she's tired. 

Every word feels like a knife to my chest. 

I pull her out of the water, holding her against me as if I can somehow stitch her back together just by touching her. I wrap her in towels, speaking softly, constantly, even though I'm not sure she can hear me. I clean her wounds carefully, terrified of how much blood she's lost, counting breaths, counting seconds. 

She's weak. Exhausted. But alive. 

Thank the Goddess, she's alive. 

Eventually, her sobs slow. Her body goes slack with sleep, the kind that comes when someone has nothing left to fight with. I lay her back on the bed, covering her gently, never once letting go of her hand. 

Why would she do this? 
How much pain does someone have to be in to believe death is kinder? 

When my beta returns, he stops short the moment he enters the room. He smells the blood immediately. His expression hardens, then softens when he sees her breathing, sleeping. 

I tell him what happened. 

When I ask about her family, his answer makes something dark twist in my chest. They left. Packed up and went home without even looking for her. 

Without her. 

What kind of family does that? 

Anger burns through me, hot and possessive. But beneath it is relief, ugly and honest. They won't fight me. They won't try to take her back. Because I'm never letting her return to that place. Never letting anyone hurt her again. 

She doesn't wake. But she's alive. Warm. Breathing. 

That's enough. 

It's time to take her home. 

I let the hotel owners know what happened,only enough to explain the broken door and the urgency. They don't ask questions. They know better. We settle everything quickly, then leave. 

On the drive back to the pack, I sit in the backseat with Genevieve, her body curled against mine. I don't sleep. I don't look away. Every breath she takes feels like a promise I intend to keep. 

I press my hand gently over her heart and make a silent vow. 

She survived. 
She's mine. 
And I will spend the rest of my life proving she chose the right moment to keep breathing.